


I've Waited So Long to Say This to You

by BreTheWriter



Series: Hold Me Like You'll Never Let Me Go [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (fucking finally), Fireworks, Fourth of July, Getting Together, M/M, happy birthday steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreTheWriter/pseuds/BreTheWriter
Summary: With things slowly returning to normal--whatever "normal" is when the Avengers are involved, anyway--Steve has been looking forward to the Fourth of July, until a nightmare leaves him shaken and wanting to be alone. Lucky thing Bucky, as always, knows exactly what his best guy needs to feel like he's finally come home.





	I've Waited So Long to Say This to You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilverTempest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverTempest/gifts), [purpleyedemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleyedemon/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Steve Rogers! Happy Independence Day, my fellow Americans! And happy Wednesday, everybody else!
> 
> So I was going to have this posted at midnight, but I forgot. Anyway, I've had this story done for literal years, and I've been eagerly waiting to share it with y'all. I'm so glad I finally get the opportunity.
> 
> Title is from "I Do (Cherish You)" by Mark Wills.

James woke suddenly. His eyes snapped open in the darkness and he sat up, wondering what it was that had aroused him. The luminous numbers on the clock at his bedside read 1:02, so he hadn’t been asleep for long. He listened carefully, but there was no sound, no movement, nothing to disturb his (admittedly restless) slumber.

Still…he was sure there was _something._ He listened a moment longer, then threw off the covers and got up. Maybe a quick patrol of the building would help him fall back to sleep.

He stepped out into the hallway and prowled along it, silent as a cat. The lighting in the hallway was low as always, but one light suddenly brightened, then dimmed again. James dropped into a crouch, wondering if the light was a motion sensor, and kept still. The light flickered insistently, but not like it was burning out or had a short in the wire.

It was almost like…a signal.

Only then did James realize that the light was right outside Steve’s door. He hesitated, then tested the knob. It opened easily—Steve was never one to lock his doors when he was home, even if he was alone—and James stepped in. “Steve?” he called softly.

There was no answer, but instinct pulled him into the room, shutting the door behind him. He hurried over to the bedside and looked down.

The light was extremely dim, but there was enough of it for James to see Steve’s face, screwed up as if in pain. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he was curled into a ball. Soft whimpers and cries escaped his throat, and he kept clenching and unclenching his hands. He was obviously in the grip of a nightmare.

James felt helpless, just like he always had. Steve had been prone to nightmares when they were younger, really bad ones, and James had never been able to wake him up from them. All he could ever do was hold him and help him ride them out.

He was around the other side of the bed before he thought about what he was doing, and by then, it was too late. He crawled into the bed and grabbed Steve’s shoulder from behind. “Steve, c’mon, wake up,” he pleaded, knowing it was useless but knowing that he had to try.

Steve sat bolt upright, but his eyes didn’t open. He lunged at James, who didn’t have time to be startled before Steve was gripping the front of his shirt and burying his face in James’s shoulder. “ _Bucky,”_ he half-sobbed.

James recovered himself and tentatively wrapped his arms around Steve. “Shh. Shh,” he soothed, just like he had when they were kids, even though he’d never felt so undeserving. “It’s okay, Steve. I gotcha.”

“Don’t leave me, Buck,” Steve begged in that half-asleep mumble James was so familiar with, but with a clear note of desperation. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t leave you, Stevie,” James murmured. “I promise. I’ll never leave again. I’m right here. I gotcha.”

Gradually, Steve relaxed, the trembling in his limbs ceasing, and he relaxed against James. James lay him back down against the pillows and tried to pull his arms away, but Steve wouldn’t let go of his shirt. “Stay,” he breathed.

James knew he should leave, but there had never been anything he wanted to do less. Hesitantly, he lay down next to Steve, wrapping his arms gently around the other man and pulling him close to his chest.

“Okay, Steve,” he whispered. “I’ll stay.”

Steve gave a deep sigh and smiled. He turned over in James’s arms so that they were slotted together, the way they’d done when they were younger, when James and a wool blanket were the only things separating Steve and the bitter New York winter nights that could’ve easily killed him. James felt him relax as he sank into a deeper sleep.

And with his best friend back where he belonged, James found himself falling asleep before he could do anything to stop it.

***

Steve sat on the roof of Avengers Tower, his legs dangling over the edge, facing the harbor. The sun was finally beginning to set over the buildings of New York City, painting the edges glowing red, even as the lights came on in the buildings. It was close to eight-thirty; the real fun wouldn’t start for at least another half-hour.

Strictly speaking, that wasn’t accurate. There had been a lot of fun going on throughout the city pretty much all day. It was Independence Day, July the fourth, and the whole country was celebrating. But the fireworks, the _real_ fun as far as Steve was concerned, wouldn’t start until nine at the earliest, more likely nine-thirty.

He’d been alone for most of the day. This was Thor’s first experience with the holiday, and Jane had dragged him out to hit the city immediately after breakfast. Pepper and Tony and Sam and Natasha had gone out on a double date shortly afterward. Banner was down in the labs, wearing a pair of noise-canceling headphones; loud noises tended to agitate the other guy. Clint had sparred with Steve that morning, but he’d gotten a phone call from Coulson and gone off to answer it, and Steve hadn’t seen him since.

And Bucky had gone to the hospital to visit the babies, just like he did every couple of days. Steve went with him once in a while, but that day, he’d just quietly disappeared. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be alone as it was he just wanted some time to think.

He’d had a nightmare the night before. That wasn’t so unusual; he’d had them about once a week when he was younger, and they’d only gotten worse when he’d become Captain America. Since waking up in the twenty-first century, he had found himself having one almost every night, whether he actually slept or not.

The previous night’s had been a doozy, the most frequent of his nightmares. He’d been back on the train, clinging to the outside and watching Bucky pick up his shield and try to protect him, just like he always did. Only this time, he knew what was going to happen, he knew that Bucky was going to get blasted out and barely manage to catch himself and that he would fall. He was just powerless to stop it. And then, after Bucky _did_ fall, he seemed to gain telescopic vision, he could see Bucky’s face as he fell all the way down to the ravine and landed on the rocks, battered and broken and bleeding but miraculously alive, could see the HYDRA soldiers picking their way towards him, ready to enslave him for seventy years of hell…

But last night’s had been different. He’d seen the soldier coming, he’d yelled out to warn Bucky, or tried to…but this time, Bucky had seen him, too, he’d managed to get him and not to get blown off the train, and then he’d thrown shield and gun aside and reached out and grabbed Steve’s arm and pulled him back into the train, and then hugged him tightly, and Steve had clung to Bucky’s dirty uniform shirt and sobbed into his shoulder.

_Bucky…Bucky, you’re alive…_

_Of course I am, you chump, did you really think you were getting rid of me that easily?_

_Don’t leave me, Buck. Please don’t leave me again…_

_I won’t leave you, Stevie. I promise. I’ll never leave again. I’m right here. I gotcha._

It had been an unusually vivid dream, and if Steve had realized he was dreaming he’d have woken up crying because it hadn’t happened, but in his dream he’d just relaxed against Bucky and been perfectly happy and safe, because Bucky was there and he wasn’t alone. He’d sunk back into a deeper sleep and actually woken rested.

He’d woken alone…but the indentations in the sheets told him that he hadn’t slept that way. Someone else had been in his bed with him the night before, and he didn’t know who, or why.

And Bucky hadn’t looked at him during breakfast that morning. He must’ve done something wrong, but he didn’t know what. He’d tried really hard to behave, to not push Bucky to remember things he wasn’t ready to remember or talk about things he wasn’t ready to talk about. Clint kept reminding him that Bucky’s memory would return at its own pace, and really, Bucky remembered more every day, or was more willing to talk about his memories every day, anyway. He was still tense, still skittish, but sometimes, Steve could see his best friend again, the man he remembered from the war, and even from before.

Gradually, though, Steve was getting to know _this_ man, the man who preferred everyone else call him James, the man who had been the Winter Soldier. There was a lot of the Bucky Steve remembered in him, but at the same time, he was a little sadder, a little harder, a little darker—understandable when you knew what he’d been through. But the deeper stuff, who Bucky really was, hadn’t changed.

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

Steve looked up, startled, then did a double-take. Bucky stood over him, smiling a little uncertainly. His face was clean-shaven, which wasn’t unusual; Bucky had been shaving diligently with a safety razor every morning since arriving at Avengers Tower. What was unusual, however, was his hair. Gone were the long, unkempt locks that had characterized the Winter Soldier. Instead, his hair was clean and neatly trimmed, the same length it had been when Steve had lost him off the train, combed and parted on the side.

“No—go ahead.” Steve scooted over a little, although there was really no need. “You got a haircut?”

A slight smirk played over Bucky’s lips. “Nope, got ‘em all cut.”

Steve laughed softly. “Jerk.”

“Punk.” Bucky settled down next to Steve. “But…yeah. ‘Bout halfway between here and the hospital, there’s a barbershop…there was a sign outside that read ‘Free Haircuts to Veterans.’ I wasn’t sure I counted, but I waited until the shop was empty, then went in and told them I was a World War II vet. The girl behind the counter looked skeptical, but the owner came out and—” A funny look came into Bucky’s eyes. “He recognized me. Turns out he was in one of the POW camps we liberated. I didn’t remember him, but he said he wasn’t surprised, he’d changed a lot. He insisted on cutting my hair himself.”

“It looks good on you,” Steve said. “You look more like yourself.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair—his real hand. “Honestly, that’s why I think I resisted doing it for so long. I—I didn’t _feel_ like myself, so I thought I didn’t deserve to _look_ like myself. Wasn’t sure the guy in all those drawings of yours still existed.” He gave a quiet huff of laughter. “Turns out he was still there—under all the hair.”

Steve smiled. “I tried to tell you that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re biased.” Bucky ran his hand through his hair again. “That’s the other reason I held off as long as I did.”

“Because I’m biased?” Steve asked.

Bucky looked up at him, his grey eyes serious. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me and see the guy you grew up with. Or, well, because I didn’t want you to look at me and _only_ see that guy.” He looked down at his hands. “The thing is, Steve, the Winter Soldier…he wasn’t a puppet or a mindless machine or anything like that. He was still me. All they took were my memories. They took my name and they took my past and they took—you know, that’s just superficial stuff. The deeper stuff, the stuff that’s ingrained on the bone—that was still there. I was still me. I just didn’t know it.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He remembered his conversation with Sam, before he’d gone out to Malibu to visit Tony the first time, when Sam had asked him if Bucky Barnes would have done some of the things the Winter Soldier had done and Steve had admitted, if only to himself, that yes, Bucky _would_ have, if he’d been ordered to. More importantly, he remembered what Clint had told him the next evening, when Steve had poured out his heart and soul to the older man. What Clint was _still_ telling him, to be honest.

“I’m trying to remember that,” he said softly instead. “I know you didn’t…you wouldn’t have done any of that willingly, but…”

“But I did it,” Bucky said insistently. “ _I_ did it, Steve. I wasn’t being controlled by someone else. They gave me orders and I could have refused them, but I didn’t.”

Steve realized what Bucky was saying. He turned and looked him directly in the eye. “I forgive you.”

Bucky relaxed—visibly relaxed. He closed his eyes, dropping his head to his chest briefly. “Thank you. That—that means a lot to me.” At that, he opened his eyes and looked back up at Steve. “Maybe now I can start forgiving myself.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Buck,” Steve said, then added lightly, “That’s my job.”

Bucky laughed. “You’re a punk.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“And proud of it.” Bucky grinned, then looked back at the horizon. “You remember doing this when we were kids? Sitting on the roof of the apartment building and watching the fireworks?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “That’s why I came up here. In theory I could’ve watched from the observation deck, but…for old time’s sake, you know?”

“Yeah.” Bucky tilted his head up for a moment. “Pretty far from Coney Island, though. Are we gonna be able to see the fireworks from here?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve said. “According to Tony—and he’d know—there are at least four shows, and you can see ‘em all pretty clearly from the roof.”

“Yet you’ll notice he isn’t here.”

“Pepper made reservations for four at the restaurant at the top of the Empire State Building. She and Tony are double-dating with Sam and Natasha tonight.”

Bucky smiled. “They’re a really swell-looking couple.”

“They are,” Steve agreed. “So are Tony and Pepper. You haven’t really gotten to know her yet, but she’s pretty awesome. She’s a good match for Tony.”

“I’d like to have a good long chat with her sometime.” Bucky ran his hand through his hair again.

It was Steve’s turn to smile. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Bucky gave a soft huff of laughter. “You try walking around with a mop for two years and then getting it all hacked off, tell me how it feels.”

“Uh, no, thanks. I don’t think I’d look good with long hair.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Long, flowing, golden locks, a sparkly dress, a little makeup—”

“Shut up.” Steve blushed.

“Or how ‘bout a blue satin gown? Like Bridget O’Shaughnessy in _The Maltese Falcon?_ ” Bucky winked. “You’ve got the eyes for it.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “I remember you telling me that.”

Bucky’s face registered surprise. “You do? When?”

“When we read it together, the summer after we graduated high school,” Steve replied. “Remember? It was so hot and sticky neither of us could sleep, so we crawled under my bed because you said it’d be cooler down there and took turns reading it. We got to that line where Spade mentions Bridget’s cobalt-blue eyes, and when I asked you to describe the color, you said it was the exact color of mine.”

“I—I remember.” Bucky flushed and looked away. “I kind of didn’t expect you to.”

“There isn’t much of those years I don’t remember,” Steve said softly. He cleared his throat, then added, “Remember when we went to see the movie together, about a month before Pearl Harbor? Bogie did a pretty good job with the part of Spade, but not half as good as you would’ve been.”

“‘You oughta be in pictures,’” Bucky said with a slight grin, although he didn’t look up. “You used to tell me that a lot, didn’t you?”

“I sure did.” Steve smiled fondly at the memory. “We’d go to the pictures and you’d come out and imitate the star—you were a perfect mimic, and you always had the lines memorized. I wasn’t half as good as you were.”

Bucky chuckled. “I seem to recall you were always trying to do the gal’s parts. Even before puberty, your voice wasn’t that high.”

“Yeah, well, you took the good parts.” Steve didn’t mention that he’d always tried to imitate the female lead in the hopes that Bucky would eventually start imitating the lines that led up to the kiss. There was always a kiss.

“I kinda wanted to be in pictures, too,” Bucky admitted. “Even thought about going to Hollywood after high school. Dad offered to pay for my ticket.”

Something twisted, deep in Steve’s stomach, but he spoke casually. “So why didn’t you go?”

Bucky looked up at him like he’d lost his mind. “What, and leave you behind?”

“Bucky, I wasn’t worth sacrificing your future for,” Steve protested.

“Who told you that? Of course you were,” Bucky said, frowning. “Look, Steve, there was no guarantee I’d make it if I went out to Hollywood—there weren’t any shortage of people willing to work on pictures—but I knew if I stayed, I’d be guaranteed to have you in my life, and that was worth a hell of a lot more than a shot at fame and fortune.” He smirked a little. “Besides, it’s not like I never got to see my mug on the silver screen. Just because it was in a newsreel…”

Steve chuckled ruefully, looking down at his hands. “I hated those things.”

“I know. You never wanted to be in the spotlight.” Bucky sighed. “And you didn’t really have much of a private life, did you? Everything you said, everything you did, everything you _thought_ got put out there for anyone who could pay for a ticket.”

_Not everything,_ Steve thought. There’d been a couple newsreels showing him looking at his compass with Peggy’s picture taped to the inside of the lid, but nothing had ever picked up on his true feelings for Bucky—something he was grateful for. Hero or no hero, he’d have been drummed out and sent home if anyone had known _that._ Aloud, he said, “You ever feel like we got sucked into each other’s lives? I wanted nothing more than to be a soldier, a hero, like my dad. You wanted to be a star. Then the war started, and you wound up fighting in the trenches and I wound up touring the country in booty shorts.”

“We used to make fun of that show,” Bucky confessed in a low voice. “Seemed like everyone got a letter at one point or another telling them that their girl had bought a war bond after seeing Captain America. I was so glad when you told me how much you hated it, because then I didn’t feel so bad about hating it, too.”

“‘Every bond is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy’s gun,’” Steve quoted, bracing his hands on his hips and striking as noble a pose as he could while sitting on the edge of a building. “I felt like I was mocking you, doing that show.”

“Not soldiers in general. Just me.” Bucky grinned teasingly.

Steve didn’t return the grin. “Yeah, Buck. Just you. I didn’t care about the other soldiers anymore. I only cared about you.”

Was it his imagination, or did Bucky blush a little bit? “You weren’t mocking me, Steve. You were…doing your part. I guess.”

“It wasn’t much of a choice,” Steve said. “Either a lab rat or a dancing monkey. Until I broke about a dozen regulations—not to mention disobeying a direct order—and went to find you.”

“Which was when they realized that just one super soldier wasn’t such a bad thing,” Bucky said.

Steve looked up with a smile. “Which was when they realized there was nothing I couldn’t do with a good team.”

Bucky smiled, too. “Actually…I’ve got a question about that.”

“Shoot.”

“Morita. Him being a Commando…was that your idea or mine?”

Steve frowned, trying to remember. “Mine, I think. But when I told you he’d agreed, you got pretty excited. Said he was the best soldier you’d ever met and you couldn’t think of anyone else you’d rather have your back in a fight.” He gave a rueful half-smile. “I was pretty jealous.”

“I just hadn’t seen you in war yet,” Bucky said softly. “I think I was still having trouble realizing you weren’t the skinny little kid who kept picking fights he needed me to step in and finish. But…thanks. I couldn’t remember and it was bugging me.”

Steve resisted the urge to comment on that. “What put it in your head?”

“Clint. The first morning I was here…we were talking about coffee, actually, and I was telling him that I used to trade Morita the cigarettes out of my ration pack for his coffee. He asked me which one of us asked him to be a Commando and I couldn’t remember.” Bucky’s expression was hard to read in the gathering darkness. “He told me it was okay not to be able to remember things.”

“Clint’s a good guy,” Steve said softly.

Bucky nodded slowly. “He said you’d talked.”

“Yeah. The first time I was here—well, not here,” Steve amended. “Tony’s got a house in Malibu, too. That’s where they were when—when HYDRA came out of hiding. Sam and I went to visit them about…two months ago, I guess? Something like that. Anyway, that’s when we talked.” He fell silent, remembering his naïveté. He’d actually believed that he could help Clint, that he understood enough of his own pain to help someone through a similar pain. Instead, it had been Clint who had comforted him.

“Well…I mean, it was that first morning. I didn’t figure you’d really talked the night before.”

“Yeah.” Sudden misgiving struck Steve. “Did he tell you what we talked about?”

“Not—exactly,” Bucky hedged. “I—mentioned something, from the past, and he said that you’d said the same thing…”

Steve looked up. Something about Bucky’s tone worried him. “What? What was it? Buck, what’s wrong?”

“N-nothing.” Bucky’s reply was hesitant and wholly unconvincing.

“No, seriously, what was it you mentioned?” Steve insisted. He was desperately running through what he could recall of his conversation with Clint, wondering what he’d said about the past— _their_ past—that would have worried Bucky like that.

Bucky took a deep breath, then looked down at his hands and said in a low voice, “We were—talking about homosexuality in the forties. I mentioned how dangerous it was to go to—those kinds of places, and Clint said that you’d said the same thing. I—kinda panicked a little, thinking maybe you’d gone to one and I didn’t know, but he said you hadn’t.” He looked up, his eyes suddenly anxious. “You didn’t—did you?”

“No,” Steve assured him softly, feeling something sink inside him. “No, I—I never did.”

Bucky exhaled, closing his eyes briefly. “Thank God. I—I couldn’t have stood it if you’d gotten hurt and I didn’t know…”

“Come to think of it, how’d you know what those places are like?” Steve asked, frowning slightly.

“How did you?” Bucky countered, a little too quickly.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second. Besides, I’ve already had to answer a question like that. Your turn first.”

Steve hesitated. “Only if you promise to answer once I have.”

Bucky hesitated, too, then nodded. “Cross my heart.”

“All right.” Steve licked his lips. “Remember Miles?”

“The janitor at the high school?”

“He told me about them.”

“Why would he do something like that?” Bucky asked with a frown.

Steve squirmed slightly. “Uh…he was trying to pick me up, I think.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened. “Shit. If I’d known that, I’d—” He broke off, biting his lip. “God. He didn’t—did he?”

“No! No, God, he never—no.” Steve blushed. “He never laid a hand on me, Buck. I swear.”

“Good. That’s good.” Bucky relaxed fractionally.

Steve looked up at his friend. “Your turn. How’d you know what those places are like?”

Bucky closed his eyes and looked away. Softly, he said, “Remember those nights I’d sleep on the couch?”

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly. “You—you were working late shifts at the garage. I always tried to wait up for you, but…”

“I wasn’t. I mean—yeah, I was working late, but—” Bucky took a deep breath, then said in a rush, “I was—not every time, but a few times, I—I was going to those places, Steve.”

Steve stared at Bucky. Of all the things he had expected to hear, that wasn’t even within the realm of on the list. “What?” he said stupidly.

“Maybe once or twice a month, when I worked the night shift…it was just to—hell, I don’t know.” The words fell out of Bucky’s mouth like he’d been longing to say them for years, or maybe like he was trying to stop them but they were going too quickly. “God, Steve, those places…I’d do things a working girl wouldn’t do for any price, but I was _desperate,_ and I wasn’t going to—” He stopped abruptly, screwing up his face as if the memory pained him.

Steve swallowed, even though his mouth was completely dry. “Buck…why didn’t you tell me?”

“I—I couldn’t. That’s why I slept on the couch…I didn’t want that to touch you. It was—I knew you’d—” Bucky swiped roughly at his eyes. “Dammit, Steve, I was sure if I told you I was a f—that I was gay, you’d leave. The only reason I’m telling you now…I mean, I know you know about Clint and Coulson, so…I figured you wouldn’t mind so much.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Steve said softly. His stomach was doing flip-flops as he tried to fit this startling new piece of information into his world view. “They didn’t—you didn’t get hurt at those places…did you?”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh. “Why do you think I panicked at the idea that you might’ve gone to one? Yeah, Steve, I got hurt. Most of the guys who were…into other guys back then…they liked it rough. Me? I was just…desperate enough to be willing to let ‘em.”

That was the second time Bucky had used the word _desperate._ Steve laughed, a little shakily. “Desperate? A good-looking guy like you? You had dames dripping off of you, Buck. I’m sure you could’ve got any man you wanted.”

“Not any man.” Bucky’s voice was scarcely audible.

Steve again felt that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “He turned you down?”

“I never asked.”

Steve might as well have been riding the Cyclone again, as much as his stomach was going up and down. Any minute, he was going to be sick from the emotional roller coaster. He had to swallow twice before he managed to speak. “Then how do you know what the answer would’ve been?”

Bucky looked up. The fear that flickered through his eyes reminded Steve of that moment on the helicarrier when he had told Bucky—through the Winter Soldier—that he would be with him ‘til the end of the line. “’Cause he was—he was too good for me,” he half-whispered. “I didn’t deserve him. I still don’t.”

He pushed himself up and started to walk away. Quickly, Steve scrambled to his feet and followed him. “Bucky, wait!” he called.

Bucky stopped and turned around, meeting Steve’s eyes fearfully. Steve stared back at him. Questions, hopes, fears, and suggestions crowded in his mind, threatening to choke him. Finally, he gave into instinct. He shot his hands out, grabbed a double handful of Bucky’s shirt, jerked him close, and kissed him.

It was hard and messy and desperate, not even as good as when Natasha had practically assaulted him in the mall to maintain their cover, but Steve didn’t care. He put everything he had into the kiss. It lasted only a few seconds, and then he pulled back, feeling slightly breathless, and looked up at Bucky.

Bucky looked…stunned was the only word for it. Somewhere between how he’d looked on the helicarrier and how he’d looked in their old elementary school when Steve had angrily refused to leave the burning building without him. His lips were parted slightly, and like Steve, he seemed to be having a little trouble catching his breath. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment.

Finally, Steve spoke, a little hoarsely. “I’ve been wanting to do that for years.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky whispered. His eyes searched Steve’s face, a little anxiously. “You—you mean you—?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve said softly. “I’m bisexual…I guess. I admit I crushed pretty hard on Peggy, but…I never stopped loving you. Ever.”

Bucky swallowed hard. He reached over and cupped Steve’s face, the way he had right after they’d escaped from the burning elementary school, but more gently, more tenderly. “Steve,” he breathed.

Steve closed his eyes, pressing his cheek into Bucky’s palm. And then Bucky drew him close and wrapped his arms around him. His lips met Steve’s just as the first firework exploded overhead.

Bucky’s kiss was like his touch, gentle and tender and unhurried, as if they had all night. Steve kissed him back, his arms going around Bucky’s neck without conscious thought. They fit together as though they belonged, like they were two halves of the same whole; they always had, and Steve had never thought very much about it, had always taken it for granted. But this…this was something more, something better.

At last, they broke apart, although Bucky didn’t back away very far. He rested his forehead against Steve’s, still holding him close. There were tears in his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered, a little brokenly.

“I love you, too,” Steve whispered back. “Jesus, Buck, I love you so much…”

“I wanted to tell you before I left, but…it didn’t seem right. Didn’t seem fair to burden you with that. And besides…I really thought you wouldn’t—” Bucky swallowed. “I didn’t want to leave with you hating me.”

“I could never have hated you,” Steve said, quietly but firmly, feeling the tears in his own eyes. “But…I was afraid _you_ would hate me. I was sure if I told you, that you’d leave…I couldn’t face that. That was the only thing I was ever afraid of, was losing you. And then I _did_ lose you…”

“Shh,” Bucky said soothingly, pulling Steve closer. “It’s okay, Steve. I’m back now. I’m back. I’ll never leave you again. I promise.”

Steve remembered his dream all of a sudden. He pulled back a little and looked up at Bucky. “I—I had a nightmare last night…”

Bucky flushed, suddenly looking a little guilty. “I know. I—something woke me up. Not sure what. There was nothing to hear or see in my room, but…call it instinct. I went out into the hallway and the light in front of your door was flickering. Like a signal…”

“Probably J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Steve murmured. “He must’ve known…” He looked up at Bucky again. “I thought this morning, it looked like someone had been in bed with me…”

“Yeah, that was me,” Bucky admitted. “I just…I was acting on instinct. Like when we were kids and you’d have nightmares. I knew I couldn’t wake you up, but I’d make a token attempt, and then I’d just…I’d hold you until it stopped. But when I tried to leave last night, you grabbed my shirt and told me to stay, so…I stayed.”

Steve blushed, looking down at his feet. “I’m—I’m sorry. I wasn’t awake…”

“I know, Steve. It’s okay. I—I wanted to stay. I just didn’t think I deserved to.”

“You do,” Steve said, looking back up seriously. “I want you to stay. Now. Forever. There will never be a time when I won’t want you there. And there will never be anyone who deserves it more.”

Bucky chuckled wetly and pulled Steve close again. Steve clung to the back of his shirt, closing his eyes and hearing the pops and bangs of the fireworks and never once turning his gaze on the firmament above. They simply held each other for a long time.

Finally, Bucky whispered in Steve’s ear. “We’re missing the show.”

Steve pulled back slightly, but he didn’t let go of Bucky. Instead, he turned in Bucky’s arms and rested his head on the slightly taller man’s shoulder. Bucky rested his cheek against the top of Steve’s head. They watched the fireworks erupt over the city.

“That must be Central Park,” Bucky murmured, pointing off to their left. The fireworks were dazzling, purples and greens and golds, sparkling and hissing in the air.

“Yeah…and I think that’s Coney Island,” Steve said, indicating a much more distant display towards the harbor.

“Whoa!” Bucky cried in astonishment as one of the fireworks burst into a green ball, with a rapidly expanding purple ring around it, like a planet.

Steve, too, was pretty impressed, considering this was the first fireworks display he’d actually watched since waking up. “They’ve come a long way since we were kids.”

The next firework that exploded, from the Coney Island display, was also a shaped one. Steve bit back a groan as the blue, white, and gold lights expanded into the shape of his face—or rather, Captain America’s.

“It’s a good likeness,” Bucky said, obviously trying not to laugh.

“Shut up.” Steve blushed.

For the next twenty minutes, the displays went on. At last, there was a dazzling, carefully choreographed explosion of lights as about thirty fireworks went off at once, and then there was only the smoke curling through the air and the distant echoes of explosions bouncing off the buildings. Then all was silent.

“Wow,” Bucky said softly.

“Mmm,” Steve agreed. He started to pull away, but Bucky pulled him back.

“Steve…just tell me one thing, would you?”

Steve turned in Bucky’s arms and looked up at him. “Anything, Buck.”

J.A.R.V.I.S. had turned the lights on the roof back on, and Steve could see Bucky’s worried expression. “Steve…listen. The Winter Soldier. I meant what I said earlier—he’s still a part of me. You can’t—you can’t pretend I didn’t…” He swallowed hard.

Steve understood. Softly, he kissed Bucky again. “Bucky,” he said, “I love you. I love you no matter what you’ve done, what you’ve had to do. I love the man you are in here.” He laid his open palm over Bucky’s heart.

Bucky covered Steve’s hand with his own, but his eyes were still searching Steve’s face. “Remember Dum-Dum Dugan?”

“Who could—” Steve began with a fond smile, but he caught himself, remembering that Bucky probably _had_ forgotten him, not by choice. “Yeah, I do.”

“You know what happened to him?”

“He was one of the first S.H.I.E.L.D. agents,” Steve said slowly. “He died in the line of duty—in the seventies, I think, or early eighties.”

“I killed him, Steve,” Bucky said softly. “He was one of the Winter Soldier’s missions. He recognized me, but I didn’t recognize him, except as a target, and I killed him.”

Steve felt something cold in the pit of his stomach, but he didn’t break eye contact with Bucky. He wanted to tell Bucky that it wasn’t his fault, that he’d been brainwashed, that he couldn’t help it…but he remembered Clint’s words, about how that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. So he took a deep breath and went for a different, but equally true, statement.

“If he knew the truth, Buck, he’d forgive you,” he said softly. “And I don’t think he’d blame me for forgiving you, too.”

Bucky stared at Steve for a moment longer, then dipped his head and kissed him again. Steve responded eagerly, melting into his best friend’s arms in a way he’d always wanted to do.

Clint was right. They weren’t the men they’d been before. But Steve was beginning to realize that he was okay with that.

After a few moments, Bucky pulled back and smiled down at Steve.

“Happy Birthday, Stevie,” he said quietly.

Steve felt a grin spread over his face. “You know, you’re the first person who’s said that to me all day. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten.”

“Never,” Bucky said firmly. “I never forgot that. And I never will.”

“I love you,” Steve said.

“I love you, too.” Bucky kissed him again.

After a few delightful, unhurried minutes, they walked into the tower together. By unspoken agreement, they went down to the living room on the seventy-eighth floor, the one where everyone tended to congregate. They still had their arms around one another’s waists, and Steve felt like he was walking about six inches off the ground.

The living room was deserted, except for Clint, who sat on the end of the sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table, reading a book. He looked up at the sound of their approach, took in the two of them, and grinned slowly. “Finally had that talk?”

Steve felt, rather than saw, Bucky’s smile. “You were right. Thank you.”

“Hey, looks to me like you did everything on your own.” Clint smiled wider. “I’m happy for you guys. Really.”

They sat down on the end of the sofa opposite Clint, Steve curling into Bucky’s side. Clint tapped his temple. “By the way, James, I like the hair. It suits you.”

“Thanks.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “I feel more like myself.”

“You look a lot more comfortable than you did a couple days ago,” Clint said. He turned to Steve and added, “Not to keep hopping subjects, but Phil said to tell you happy birthday. Why didn’t you tell us it was your birthday?”

Steve shrugged, a little self-consciously. “I don’t like fuss.”

“Be glad Tony doesn’t know, then.”

“Believe me, I am.”

Bucky laughed, rumpling Steve’s hair affectionately. Steve laughed, too, then leaned his head on Bucky’s shoulder, totally content.

At long last, he had come home.

 


End file.
